


Walking on air.

by demiurgent_g



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 02:12:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12666171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiurgent_g/pseuds/demiurgent_g
Summary: When a wing walker is found murdered, Phryne leaps at the chance to act as an undercover replacement. The loving but remote Jack has to watch her risk life and limb chasing murderers, thieves and pirates.Told from Jack's point of view.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s reassuring to have further evidence to support my theory that a joy in life cannot truly be considered a joy until it has been embraced by Miss Phryne Fisher. Of course she would take this opportunity.

On the other hand, I find myself wishing she was exhibiting her fan dance again rather than risking her neck. I was called to the airfield in the middle of the festival because a wing walker had been found murdered. Lo and behold, as I arrive, Miss Phryne Fisher prances past in a pair of overalls, hanging off the arm of a young man who appears to be a mechanic.

Her accent this time is Sydney street, and apparently we’ve met, because she greets me with a chirpy “Hello, Jack!”

“Good morning.” 

“Jimmy, this is Jack. He’s a policeman, but he’s ok. You should tell him what you told me.”

Jimmy is uncomfortable, but I reach out to shake his hand. “Inspector Jack Robinson.”

His cap twists in his hands, and he is clearly reluctant to speak.

“Jimmy was telling me,” into the breach she launches, “that Missy was engaged to his brother a few years back, but they broke it off when he went to sea. Since then she’s had no particular boyfriends but last week she started wearing a ring on her left hand.”

I glance at Jimmy for confirmation and he nods. “Flashy, it was.”

“Not the ring your brother gave her?”

“No, Tom couldn’t afford the likes of that.”

“And, Jack. The ring is now missing.”

Robbery as a motive? It seems thin, but I thank them for their time and make my way to the crime scene.

The girl is laid out - stabbed - on some tarpaulins. I glance at her left hand and spy signs of bruising. That ring was removed by force, there is no question about it.

The room is large and open and her body is still warm. I sigh. There are bound to be a wide and varied number of suspects. Collins steps up holding something.

“The murder weapon, sir. It was on the floor a few feet from the body, on some of the tarps.”

I nod. “Send it in.” I know it’s unnecessary to tell him, but the rhythm of our working relationship is set in stone by now. He turns away immediately and I call him back.

“Collins! Have we any idea how many people had access to this place?”

“Everyone, sir. There is nothing valuable kept here except the planes and they’re completely immoveable.”

“There was no guard?”

“None, sir.”

I sigh. Miss Fisher’s ability to cajole information out of innocent bystanders is going to be of significant benefit. Inevitably this means I have to watch her playing tennis, on the wings of a plane, without a pilot.

Lucky me.

 

It is forcibly borne in upon me that I forgot to communicate her presence to Collins when first a look of stunned horror descends upon him and then he frantically starts twisting his head around.

I glance back to confirm and sure enough, there stands Miss Fisher, stretching out her legs, her upper body clad only in a skin coloured body suit that leaves nothing to the imagination. Thankfully, the overalls are tied around her waist so I needn’t be too distracted by an expanse of shapely leg.

“Don’t worry Collins,” I speak dryly. “I have no reason to believe Miss Williams is present.”

He relaxes. “However,” I caution him, “although the replacement wing walker and I are old friends, I don’t currently recall her name.”

“I see, sir.”

Once upon a time Collins would have been confused. His intellectual processes might not have become sharper, but his exposure to Miss Fisher over the last few years leaves me in no doubt that he can extrapolate the truth easily enough.

“Will you question her, sir?”

“I believe so, Collins. But first…”

I walk over to the group, where a man is giving orders.

“Excuse me.” I interrupt and he is visibly displeased. 

“What?”

“Inspector Jack Robinson. This is a crime scene - I’m afraid I need to ask you to continue your exercises outside.”

“Not on your life mate - we’ve got twenty minutes to rehearse before the show comes on. The new girl,” Phryne waves cheekily at me, “needs to be briefed on the routine before we take to the air, and we can’t do that in front of the punters.”

“This is a criminal investigation sir, and anyone with access to this building is a suspect. You can’t “take to the air” until I’ve had the chance to speak to each of you about this crime.”

“Not happening. This show needs to go ahead on time or we lose thousands in sold tickets. Besides, every person with a ticket can come in and look at the planes. Are you going to interrogate all the punters too?”

“I’m more interested in catching a murderer than in saving you a few pounds.”

“Look mate, Missy was a nice girl, and we’re sorry she’s gone, but I have a very limited window that I’m able to do this display for - it has to be finished before the sun gets too high for people to watch. Once it’s over you can interrogate who you please, but for now, I’ve not got time for this.”

“What guarantee do I have that you will return?”

He looks at me with contempt. “I have no reason to run away.”

Phryne interjects. “Perhaps the Inspector would be reassured by having one of the keys to the strongbox. You said it’s got two locks on it?”

I keep my eyes steady on the pilot who frowns and then nods. He pulls a key out of his breast pocket and hands it over. I wave it at Collins who notes it in his book, and observe the group as they work through the routine.

Phryne is a marvel to watch, she picks it up almost instantly and her motions are fluid. Watching her commit her whole body and mind to a project is fascinating and I wonder, not for the first time, how she can be satisfied with the shallow encounters she has with men whose primary appeal seems to be their physical appearance.

 

The overalls are removed and the bodysuit she wears has strategically placed sequins which only focus an observer’s attention. She strikes a pose at me and shakes a little shimmy. The cough behind me tells me Collins is desperately averting his eyes, but I smile. The woman is no danger when we are in the public eye and she is so distant.

The show is, of course, a huge success. The crowd love her antics and although my chest is painfully tight as she moves through the routine with no safety cable or security, I feel a surge of immense pride as they come into land and she retains her elegant pose as she waves to the crowd and dismounts.

The woman is phenomenal.

 

It would be dangerous to meet her now, so I ensure I am safely stowed in the office with the strongbox when the pilot returns to reclaim his key. I advise him to satisfy himself that the contents of the safe are present, and he does so. That ice being broken we sit down for a quiet chat.

“Tell me about Missy.”

“I knew her for about four years. We teamed up in Melbourne, we were both just starting off in the business, and worked out a routine. She had a spirit of adventure - nothing was too dangerous for her to try. We wanted to make a big splash, so we took some big risks and it worked. Nowadays the routine is more modest - as we became more profitable we decided we’d rather spend longer getting to our retirement than risking it and going out in a blaze of glory. It’s easier to risk everything when you have nothing to lose.”

His words come with a shrug and tell of an old hurt. Miss Fisher chooses that moment to enter the room and as my eyes alight on her, I completely understand.

He also turns to her. “Thanks Flick. You did a great job out there.”

“Happy to help. Can I do the rest of the week?”

“Absolutely. But there’s no further work in it after this week from me.”

“Understood, sir. The experience will help me anyway.” Her street twang becomes more pronounced.

“Was this always intended to be your last show?” I wonder if Missy died a week before the promised retirement.

“No, retirement was a few years away for the two of us. But, with Missy gone, I now have twice the profit which means I can cash in.”

“That sounds like a motive for murder.” 

“It isn’t.” he is blunt. “I liked Missy, she was a good girl. Very reliable, and we’d have got a sizeable amount more by continuing the act, enough to live in luxury for thirty years. That was Missy’s plan. But I don’t need that much; I can sell the plane, invest in a small farm and live the quiet life, instead of the easy life.” 

“Did Missy like luxury?” Phryne’s accent is slightly softer.

“She certainly looked forward to it, but I think there would probably have been quicker ways to get it.”

“She must have had a lot of admirers willing to give her gifts.”

“Yes, that’s what I mean. She got sizeable offers from a number of wealthy men - a few of them checked my relationship with her first, or asked how much I thought she’d give it up for. At first I thought a large enough  number would do it, but about a year ago I realised money wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t that type of girl.”

“She used to be engaged to Jimmy’s brother, didn’t she?”

“Yes, Tom. Good guy. He went to make a fortune at sea; promised her he’d come back rich one day, but didn’t want to tie her down in the meantime.”

“Did he come back?”

“Not that I know of.” He sounds surprised and glances at me, wondering why “Flick” is asking. I enlighten him.

“Miss Phillips was seen wearing an expensive-looking ring on her wedding finger for the last few days. It was forcibly removed from her either before or shortly after she was killed.”

He frowns. “I didn’t see one, and we don’t wear jewellery in case it snags on something… But then, she took to wearing gloves last week. That might be why.”

“You didn’t question it?”

“Flick, how did you find it up there?”

Phryne shivers, artistically. “Cold, sir.”

“Yeah. It didn’t bother Missy so much. It didn’t used to bother me either. I started wearing gloves to get a better grip up there a few months ago. I assumed she’d followed suit.”

“Well, thank you for you time. Miss Flick, if you have a moment, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course, Inspector.” Her demure formality doesn’t deceive me at all. Once again, I find myself hiding a smile aimed at the back of her head as I escort her out of the room.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation proceeds apace.

“Time to confess, Miss Fisher. How is it that you arrived here before me?”

She smiles impishly. “Now, Jack.” Her reproving tone is belied by her fluttering eyelashes. I know she won’t tell me, and I know she knows I enjoy this game as much as she does. “A lady needs some secrets.”

“I confess, I’m surprised to learn you have any.”

“Intrigue, Jack,” she stands on tiptoe, and leaning into me reaches up to smooth my collar, “is far more entertaining than predictability.”

A nervous cough and Collins’ “Excuse me, sir,” interrupts us and I’m relieved to call time on this particular bout - conceding defeat so quickly goes against my nature.

I step back and she drops back to her usual stance, tilting her head like an inquisitive bird.

“Hello, Hugh!”

“Good day, Miss Fi-uh…”

“Felicity Dayton.” She presents her hand and Collins shakes it bemusedly. “Flick to my friends.”

He turns to me in mute appeal and I rescue him as he rescued me. “What do you have, Collins?”

“The murder weapon, sir. I thought it looked familiar. It seems to be from the war.”

“German?” Miss Fisher quickly interjects.

“Japanese. It looks like the Japanese naval dagger that my cousin brought back from the Pacific.”

“The ex-fiance line begins to seem more relevant.” Miss Fisher murmurs.

I find myself nodding, although I privately believe the connection to be too tenuous.

“We don’t know that this Tom was in the navy, though. You may be shooting at the moon, Miss Fisher.”

“As always,” she smiles smugly, “there is an easy way. I shall track down Jimmy and ask a few questions.” She waves casually at me as she sashays off.

Collins relaxes then suddenly tenses up. “Miss Fi… uh, err.. Miss Flick!”

She turns and freezes into a pose. “Yes, Hugh?”

“Is Do- err, is Miss Williams with you today?”

“Of course not, Hugh! I am a street girl and would never have a companion. However, if you mean Miss Fisher, renowned lady detective, she was here looking at the planes when the outcry arose. I was showing her around the site and personally asked her to investigate. She’s out there asking questions now and wearing a very charming bonnet.”

Her fingers flutter at us and she proceeds outside.

Hugh relaxes and I wait the few seconds required for him to catch up.

His sudden tension and exclamation of: “Sh... wa… wuh?” as he looks at me tells me he’s there.

“I suppose you had better track down the elusive ‘Miss Fisher’ impersonator and find out what her interrogations have unearthed, Collins.”

He darts off. I pity him. Miss Williams is learning many things from Miss Fisher and I think Collins hasn’t yet adjusted his idea of her to acknowledge her new strengths.

 

The body has been transported to the morgue, there are no further questions I can ask of anyone present, and I have little desire to trail in Miss Fisher’s wake so I return to the station and set some enquiries in motion about the mysterious Tom Harper.

Collins arrives an hour or so after me with a pile of notes and profuse apologies. I gesture him into silence and refocus him on the case. “What do we have, Collins?”

“Missy Caufield and Tom Harper were engaged two years ago, confirmed it was broken off amicably at the time. He joined a merchant shipper, trading with China, intending to make his fortune. He met Missy through his brother who has been servicing planes for “The Courageous Duo”, Pete Jones and Missy Caufield for three and a half years. He travels with them and draws a wage. Missy and Pete were co-owners of their business and lived quite meagrely. All profits from the shows went into a joint business account. Apparently neither of the Courageous Duo had life insurance and it was the easiest way to ensure one of them got all the money in case of accidents.”

I nod his dismissal. “Thank you Collins. Let me know when the report comes in from the morgue.”

Once alone, I check the drawer of my desk. The bottle is there and I smile. I found it a few weeks ago and believed she would enjoy it. Tonight seems like the perfect opportunity to try it.

 

Her house looms before me, as flamboyant as she is. I rap on the door, repressing the bubble of excitement I always feel treading this path. She may already be engaged. She may not be home. This is a professional visit. That happens to include a bottle of brandy.

Mr Butler opens the door and greets me.

“Miss Fisher is waiting for you in the parlour, Inspector.”

Of course she is. I glance down at the bottle, wondering if she was also expecting that.

She is curled up snugly in her chair, aperitif in hand as I enter.

As I bid her good evening she rises with alacrity and greets me. I hold out the bottle and am gratified to see surprise and pleasure mingle in her expressive eyes.

“How lovely! Mr Butler, would you…”

He proffers a tray with a pair of bowl glasses. Her eyes sparkle and she pours the liquor. I love that he is always one step ahead of her, it reassures me that it is possible.

I take my glass with thanks and we share a silent toast before she subsides into her chair again and invites me to sit.

“I suppose Miss Williams has already filled you in on the details of our investigation so far?”

“Of course she has, and I would like to know why a young lady who likes luxury would be willing to live so tight fisted for such a period of time, with all of these other temptations surrounding her.”

“She must have been expecting Tom to return.”

“Such faithfulness, without any encouragement? Do you think that’s possible?”

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Miss Fisher. To go against that cannot bring great pleasure.” I speak quietly, knowing she will understand my deeper message.

She is silent, and the look of uncertainty doesn’t sit well on her features. I fortify myself with brandy and return to the case at hand.

“But I agree. It is unlikely that she would act in this way without a reason, and a regular assurance that it is worthwhile.”

“The ring.”

“The ring may have been the final indication that the wait was over. That they now had enough money to begin their life together.”

“And if so, that would be a motive for pilot Pete to kill her. He claimed he hadn’t seen the ring, but she may easily have told him she wanted to end the act. When they split the money in two, it wouldn’t have been enough for him to retire.”

“The brother is also suspect.”

“Jimmy? What would he gain?”

“Assuming the ring wasn’t sent by Tom, that she had just given up waiting, it might mean that Jimmy was avenging her betrayal of his brother.”

“And of course, whatever the reason for breaking up the act, he would be out of work. It might have been him for more selfish reasons.”

We sit silently, until I recall the phone call I had from the war office.

“Tom’s records confirm he served in the Pacific alongside the Japanese. The blade may be his.”

“What about Jimmy? Or Pete?”

“Jimmy was too young to serve. Pete was in the air force. Palestine. They would be less likely to encounter such a blade, although it may well have been gifted to either of them.”

She sighs and slumps back.

“We are, in fact, over-burdened with suspects.”

“Indeed. And we haven’t yet tracked down Tom. He wasn’t registered to any merchant vessel in the last three years, as far as we can tell. He may have signed up under a different name, though, and we’re rechecking in case we missed one.”

“If they have been in contact, there are likely to be letters. Tomorrow, Dot and I will investigate her belongings and see if she kept any correspondence. I will update you after my morning performance.” She has perked up at the prospect of action and flashes that smile at me. I send her a reproving look, but she simply tips back her brandy glass and stretches out her legs.

 

I’m in my office, ferreting through unsatisfactory paperwork when she breezes in.

“Jack!”

“Miss Fisher.” I stand and gesture to her to take a seat. She ignores the chair, comes round to my side of the desk and perches on it.

I retake my seat, waiting for her to reveal what has her so excited.

“Dot and I had a most productive morning. We discovered, among Missy’s many belongings, a pair of fine earrings,” she drops a handkerchief bundle onto my desk which unfolds to reveal an assortment of jewellery, “a glorious emerald necklace and two rather pretty bracelets.”

I hold the earrings up to the light and they sparkle with a fire that couldn’t be artificial.

“Very fine.”

I need to record this as evidence, so I call in Collins. As I do, I realise she is blocking access to the drawer containing evidence envelopes. I gesture to the drawer, hoping she will move. A forlorn hope, of course. Instead she raises one slender leg, hooks the heel of her shoe over the edge and slides it open. She keeps her leg in place and raises her eyebrow at me challengingly.

“Yes sir?” Collin’s solid presence is reassuring and I am able to lean towards her and reach behind her ankle to retrieve the required envelope without any threat to my composure, despite the fact that the top of her stocking has been ever so slightly exposed by her pose.

I meet her gaze again as I sit back and see her clear disappointment in my cowardice as she closes the drawer firmly with her foot.

“Collins, I need you to take this down as evidence,” I drop the jewellery into the envelope and hold up the handkerchief to her with a mute enquiry.

“My handkerchiefs, like my lingerie, are all of the finest silk,” she tells me. She is punishing me, and I can only accept it. The handkerchief is dropped into the envelope and handed over to a blushing Collins who departs like a startled rabbit.

The woman stays in place.

“Can I help you further, Miss Fisher?”

She raises the hem of her skirt and retrieves what appears to be letters from the top of her stocking. She fans herself with them and withholds them teasingly.

“I also recovered these, from Missy’s various belongings. They give a most intriguing history of her relationship with her paramour who, whether he is young Tom or not, is most assuredly involved in piracy and smuggling.”

I sit bolt upright and my gaze fixes on the letters.

“Piracy?”

She unfolds one and reads:

“Dear Missy, Following another good run last night, I enclose the latest instalment. There’s a high demand for rum right now, so the next few months are likely to be profitable.”

“Smuggling, certainly, but why piracy?”

“Those earrings.”

“Yes?”

She smiles smugly and I know she will draw this out as much as possible.

“Collins!” She cocks her head at my sudden call. As soon as he appears in the doorway, I ask him to bring back the evidence envelope.

He bobs out and in again and I pour the jewels onto my desk.

I look at the earrings more closely, but see nothing to indicate anything suspicious.

I lean back in the chair and look up at her. “I give up.”

“Those earrings and the necklace do not match.”

I double check and she’s quite right, but, “That only proves he didn’t purchase them together, not that he didn’t purchase them at all.”

“Indeed. But the earrings are part of a set.”

“How do you know that?”

“The set used to belong to Lady Harriet Simpson, but were stolen when her ship was accosted on its way over from China. She mourned for them extremely loudly, but they were never recovered.”

“And was Lady Simpson harmed by the experience?”

“Fortunately not. She had a last minute change of plans and flew over with a young gentleman friend. Her maid was less fortunate and according to what she told Harriet, the ship was invaded by three ruffians who targeted the first class cabins, and as she was making use of the facilities her mistress had paid for, she was struck down by a young man who shares a remarkably similar description to young Jimmy.”

“Collins, get me any reports we have of that or related crimes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Miss Fisher.”

I stand and she mirrors me.

“You are more than welcome, Jack.”

Our eyes meet and I know she wants more from me, but all I can do is invite her to join me in my visit to the Morgue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes a declaration.

Dr Macmillan greets us with a shrug. 

“I don’t have much for you, I’m afraid. Cause of death was definitely a stab wound,” she draws back the sheet over Missy to indicate one of three injuries particularly. “This one hit the kidney and a blood vessel, so she probably passed out before she died. There’s mild bruising, indicating she struggled, but no skin under her fingernails.”

“She may have been wearing gloves.” I recall our interview with Pete.

“But if she was wearing gloves,” Miss Fisher interjects slowly, “How did the killer know about the ring?”

I nod. “It’s almost certain the killer was targeting the ring, rather than Missy, which narrows down our field considerably.”

 

Jimmy sits uncomfortably in the interview room. Miss Fisher wanted to be present but it was incompatible with her undercover work, so I have a few hours of peace while she waits for me at her home.

“We have uncovered evidence that Missy was killed in order to take her ring. However, as she always covered it with gloves, there are very few people who knew about it. You are one of them.”

“Yes, but I told you about it! I wouldn’t do that if I’d stolen it!”

“How did you come to see the ring, Mr Harper?”

“I was due to be paid, and I went to the office. She was sat with her glove off and looking at it. She was smiling and holding out her hand…” He extends his left hand, with fingers splayed straight out and smiles a half smile reminiscent of Miss Fisher at her most smug.

“And then?”

“I knocked, and she called me in and pretended she was pulling something out the drawer of the desk. When she sat up, her glove was on, so I figured I wasn’t supposed to have seen the ring and didn’t mention it.”

“Where do you think she got it?”

Anger flashed briefly across Jimmy’s face.

“I don’t care. All I know is that after she spent the last two years prating about waiting for Tom, I’m glad she was too ashamed to show me she’d thrown him over for cash.”

“Can you remember what it looked like?”

He frowns. “Not really. It was flashy.”

“What colour was it?”

“White. Maybe a bit blue.”

“So there was a stone on it?”

“Yeah, a big one. That’s right - big white one in the middle, two smaller blue ones on the side.”

“Thank you, Mr Harper, that’s been very helpful.”

I leave Collins to finish up and go to make a few enquiries about any rings lost to piracy. Anything as substantial as Jimmy described would merit its own report.

 

Miss Fisher welcomes me with open arms - her enthusiasm for the case has overwhelmed her urges to tease me, so I am able to enjoy a brief, unthreatening embrace. Before she releases me I insert the file between us. She seizes it and begins to peruse with enthusiasm and before I have relinquished my hat and coat to Mr Butler she gasps and whirls around.

“Aphrodite’s kiss!”

“Indeed. Taken in an act of piracy three months ago and, just this morning, reported as returned to its lawful owner in exchange for the advertised reward of £300.”

“A sum many would kill for.”

“But only a fraction of the value of the ring.”

“Of course. If you are willing to kill for the money, surely you would be willing to take the object for yourself.”

We sink into our respective chairs and she continues flicking through the pages. 

“Sadly,” I interject, “We still have no news of Tom Harper. It’s unlikely he killed Missy, but he is certainly connected with the original theft.”

“Yes, indeed.” 

Mr Butler announces dinner is served and we eat in our usual style and comfort, tacitly relinquishing all talk of the case until we are once again ensconced in the parlour. She has resumed her usual tactics over dinner and is in an extremely playful mood. She proposes she can inveigle herself with the pirate troop in order to wring a confession out of them, and is highly unsatisfied with my repressive:

“No, Miss Fisher.”

She pouts and sits back with her arms folded. “You never want us to have any fun.”

It cuts me to the quick. She can’t have intended it to wound so deeply, but it releases the control I hold over something deep inside me and I set my glass down. The sharp click cuts through the suddenly dense atmosphere and I find I cannot stay seated in my agitation.

“I regret that I am such a disappointment to you, Miss Fisher, and I hope it is some consolation to you that I am ashamed of my own cowardice.”

She sits up slowly, looking alarmed. “Jack…”

“No, Miss Fisher. I am aware you live for pleasure, and I do not expect that to ever change, not for any man. But if I were given the choice between walking in the park for an hour with you, or spending a night in the arms of another woman, I would choose you. And yes, I very much wish you wanted me in the same way, but you don’t, so we would be briefly happy and then you would move on and I would lose… everything we have.” I breathe deeply. “I would lose everything.”

She is silent, eyes wide. I can’t bear to look any more and walk to the door. As I reach out for the handle I turn back.

“One day, I hope to overcome my cowardice. But I cannot imagine a time when I am willing to risk a lifetime of your friendship for a few nights of passion.”

I open the door into the hallway, intending to show myself out of her home but her voice holds me.

“Jack…” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it carries a shadow of the pain I feel. “Jack, you are no coward. Please don’t ever say that again.”

I can’t stay. Mr Butler has heard the disturbance and magically appeared. I pull the parlour door closed behind me and wordlessly he retrieves my belongings and shows me out.

 

The next day is a torment. I haven’t been able to sleep, I don’t know if I am ashamed, embarrassed or afraid, but I cannot stop reliving our conversation of the previous night. There is nothing but my cowardice to be ashamed of - everything else is as core to my nature as her indulgences are to hers - but there is a strange pain in acknowledging it and knowing that the words cannot now be unsaid.

It is a relief when Collins takes a phone call and informs me another murder has been discovered. There’s no reason for Miss Fisher to be aware of it, but I still feel a tension building inside me and a strange disappointment when I don’t see her at the site.

We’re shown the victim and he looks familiar, although I can’t quite pinpoint why. Several of his fingers are misaligned and there is heavy bruising over much of his face. He has been stabbed and there is no sign of a weapon at all. There are also no identifying documents, so we begin to question the people who found him. They have no prior knowledge of him, so I leave Collins to complete the questioning and try to marshall my thoughts.

I contemplate the body for a while, trying to pin down that elusive familiarity, but the face is so contorted I can’t make a connection. Trying to establish some form of identity I study his clothes more closely. They are very good quality, very robust material, but extremely worn. His ankles have myriad signs of mud, salt water stains and black flecks. The shirt is blood stained now, but appears to have recently been cleaned. His jacket is waterproofed and finally the penny drops.

This must be Tom Harper.

I will be seeing Miss Fisher again, very soon.

 

It is in the morgue that we next meet and she is unnaturally subdued. Dr Macmillan will undoubtedly notice something. I glance at Miss Fisher for a moment and she eventually meets my gaze. Before I can speak, Dr Macmillan enters.

“I’m glad you could make it - you understand this is not a thorough report, but I felt it was important I feed this back to you as soon…. What’s going on with you two?”

“Mac, please. The victim?”

She looks between us and raises her eyebrow in surprise at Miss Fisher before continuing.

“This young man was the victim of a rather brutal torture session. He has evidence of dislocated fingers, broken kneecaps, multiple bruises from punching and the final stab wounds which are the cause of death. Interestingly, although the weapon was a different one, the killing blow was located in the same place as for our previous victim, Miss Caufield.”

“A serial killer.” She breathes the words with a dark excitement, which Dr Macmillan promptly dampens.

“More likely a professional killer. That blow was surgically precise.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” I make to leave but she calls me back;

“One more thing!”

“Yes?”

“I can’t precisely pinpoint time of death at this stage, but I am very confident in stating that Mr Harper has been dead for more than 48 hours.”

Miss Fisher gasps. “He led them to her.” She whispers the words in betrayed horror.

“After several hours of agony, yes, he must have told them about Miss Caufield.” Dr Macmillan is unusually defensive of the man laid on the slab.

“They tortured him just to find the ring?” Her eyes seek me out with horror. “And then relinquished it for £300?”

She has a point - such an approach is excessively sadistic. We’re missing something. Fortunately, I was able to get the name of the individual who recovered the ring and arranged an interview with them for the following day. I inform Miss Fisher, somewhat stiltedly, and having established it was compatible with her wing walking responsibilities, she states she will attend, “if,” she continues hesitantly, “I am welcome?”

Dr Macmillan’s jaw drops and she stares at her friend’s deeply uncharacteristic meekness.

“A friend such as yourself is always welcome, Miss Fisher.” I put my hat on and leave in haste, but not quickly enough to be out of earshot when Dr Macmillan explodes:

“Phryne, what on earth was all that about?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A theft uncovered

Miss Fisher arrives at the station punctually, and full to the brim of joie de vivre. 

“Tomorrow,” she declares, “shall be my final day wing walking and I shall miss it terribly! The exhilaration, Jack! The freedom! There is nothing like it.”

“I trust you can stay grounded while we speak to our next guest.” I smile - it’s wholly natural, we’re past all awkwardness as simply as that and yet I feel closer to her somehow.

I gesture to her to lead the way and we join a very neat, precise little man who rises primly to greet us. 

“Detective Inspector Jack Robinson,” I indicate myself, “and Miss Phryne Fisher who is involved in this investigation.”

“I am Carstairs, Michael Carstairs of Carstairs and Harrow Jewellers.”

“We’re very pleased to meet you, Mr Carstairs.” Miss Fisher sounds slightly stunned with an undercurrent of amusement in the face of the man’s pomposity; but fortunately he is not familiar enough with her habits to recognise her emotions and acknowledges her words with a bow of his head.

“Mr Carstairs,” I speak firmly, “We understand that you were able to return Aphrodite’s kiss to its lawful owner this week.”

“I was, indeed, fortunate enough to be in that position.”

“We’re very interested to hear how you came by the piece.”

“That is very understandable and I have already forewarned those involved that if I were questioned I would be forthcoming.. I acted in the role of intermediary. The ring was presented to me by an individual who had chanced upon it and I, of course, immediately recognised it and enquired if he was interested in the reward. The individual in question was reluctant to step forward, lest they be charged with theft, so I undertook to act upon his behalf and collect the reward money for him.”

His over inflated self-importance grates on me, and I grit my teeth. Miss Fisher asks the obvious question:

“And when you had the money, what then?”

“I returned to my shop, where the individual waited, and gave him the £300, of course.”

“The whole £300?”

“Yes, of course.”

It doesn’t quite ring true to me, so I cut in:

“Forgive me, Mr Carstairs, but that seems unusually generous. Wouldn’t you ordinarily claim a commission on such an act?”

He raises his eyebrows but speaks without losing any of his misplaced superiority. 

“My dear sir, I have restored to a most grateful lady a priceless jewel in an act which established my character as reliable and trustworthy, and my business as an emporium of quality and discretion. My profit from this deed will come in another way.. This time next year, you will see Carstairs and Harrow adorning the upper echelons of society.”

Even to my cynical nature it makes sense.

“We need you to identify the individual who you acted for.”

“That will not be possible.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“As I said, Detective Inspector, my role in this business is of the utmost discretion. There is no act I have been involved in that was unlawful and I have assured my client our relationship will remain confidential.”

“That ring was forcibly removed from the finger of a murdered girl.”

“That is, of course, most regretful, but my client discovered the ring. Perhaps your murderer discarded it, not knowing its value.”

“Mr Carstairs, I need to know who this individual was.”

“I will not tell you, sir.”

Miss Fisher interjects: “Mr Carstairs, surely you can understand how important this is. We are trying to track down a murderer!”

“I regret I cannot oblige you, Miss Fisher.”

The damned man seems prouds of himself, and I take recourse in threats.

“Mr Carstairs, if you do not disclose the identity of your client I will be obliged to arrest you.”

“That is most unfortunate, Detective, but it will not cause me to falter.”

I arrest him. As the cells are immediately down the corridor and the jeweller is perfectly happy to over play his part in this charade, I don’t bother with handcuffs. Hopefully a few hours alone will bore him enough to part with some pertinent information.

Intending to hand him over to Collins, I escort him to the front desk and a startling commotion erupts.

“You bastard! You promised! I hope you rot in hell you filthy….!”

I have automatically moved to shield my prisoner - and, incidentally, Miss Fisher - from what threatens to be a physical assault. Collins has caught the aggressor by the upper arm and is abjuring him to calm down, and the jeweller remains silent and still. Miss Fisher’s voice cuts through the commotion.

“Jimmy! You returned the ring?”

“He swore he wouldn’t tell!” Jimmy struggles in Collins’ grip, but to no avail.

Miss Fisher is clearly gobsmacked and I need to continue with my investigations. I ask Collins to escort Mr Harper to the room we just vacated and I take the now slightly deflated jeweller to the cells.

When I return, Miss Fisher has already begun her interrogation and Collins is frantically taking notes. I am in time to hear the boy declare:

“I haven’t killed no-one.”

I take control of the room.

“Mr Harper, you know the ring was taken from Missy’s body. It makes it very likely whoever took it also murdered her. If you don’t tell us exactly what happened, I will arrest you for her murder.”

“Jimmy,” Miss Fisher speaks more softly and leans over the table to clasp his hands. “Jimmy, I believe you didn’t kill her, but we can’t prove that without your help. Please, tell us what happened.”

He is sulky and tense. “I didn’t steal nothing, either. She were dead. You can’t own anything when you’re dead.”

“The ring and all her property would become the property of whoever she left it to in a will, or her next of kin. Your theft is from them, and your freedom will depend on whether they are interested in pressing charges. You will certainly be charged with desecration of a corpse, but that is not a hanging offense.”

He looks away. He is very young and full of rage against an unjust world. I find myself pitying him.

“I didn’t kill her.” He reiterates his earlier statement with less heat.

“What happened, Jimmy?”

“It was before the show. I had work on the planes to do and Missy came into the hangar. I was angry at her - didn’t want anything to do with her - so I hopped into the plane and sat quiet while she went past.”

“Why were you angry, Jimmy?” Miss Fisher’s low, honeyed tones could lure a confession from the most hardened criminal. Jimmy had no chance.

“It was the ring.” He glared at us both. “Tom wrote me two weeks ago, said he had got enough together and was coming back. He wanted to surprise her, so he asked me not to say anything. Two days later I sees her with that ring.”

We sit silently and he thumps the table. “She should have waited! But no, she pretended and let me think she still loved him while all along she was wheedling along richer men.”

Now is not the time to reveal Tom probably gifted her the ring.

“I didn’t want anything to do with her. I knew she’d be three minutes stretching, then go out to flirt with the crowd. She liked the attention, you know.” He falls silent.

“Go on, Mr Harper.” 

He’d responded to Miss Fisher’s prompt with defensiveness, but I saw nothing in the glare he shot me but angry resentment.

“In comes a punter, asks if she’s Missy. She says yes, and he asks if she’s promised to Tom. She says she was. He said something else, I didn’t hear what, then I heard a grunt and a squeak and I called out asking if everything was OK. There was a thump and a clatter and by the time I’d got round the plane, Missy was lying there, dead.”

“And the ring?”

“I thought it’d be worth a few bob and I didn’t want Tom to find out she was wearing it. No reason for him to be hurt more than necessary.”

I exchange a glance with Miss Fisher.

“Jimmy,” she asks the question gently. “Do you know why you were asked here today?”

“Because the rat of a jeweller told you I brought him the ring.”

“Actually, no.” I say it as respectfully as possible. “Mr Carstairs refused to disclose your identity. I was arresting him for obstructing the case when we encountered you.”

Jimmy glances rapidly between us and then slumps.

“What were you told when you were asked to come in?”

“He said they were looking for Tom, and needed my help. Said they think they found him?”

“Yes.” Miss Fisher looks at me in a mute appeal for help.

“Mr Harper, we have reason to believe your brother was killed by the same man who attacked Missy. We would like you to accompany us to the Morgue and identify the remains of your brother.”

“Tom?” He whispers in shock. “He’s… he’s dead?”

“We believe so, but the man we found had no paperwork on him.” Miss Fisher reaches out to touch his hands again. “The circumstances suggest it is him.”

We take him to the Morgue - he isn’t formally under arrest yet, although that will happen shortly. Dr Macmillan raises the sheet to expose the victim’s battered face and Jimmy reaches out a shaking hand to touch it. When he encounters cold skin he snatches it back and tears fall down his face. This must rank as the worst day of his young life.

Without removing his focus from his brother’s face, he asks: “What happened to him? Was he in a fight?”

“We believe he was killed for stealing the ring. There are signs that he was beaten until he told them about Missy, then he was killed.”

“The ring was from Tom?”

“We have a letter which came with the ring. Your brother didn’t sign it, but we have reason to believe it was from him.”

“Can you tell us anything about the man who killed Missy, Jimmy? It’s the only way we’ll be able to bring about justice for your brother’s death.”

“I never saw him.” Jimmy shakes his head in slow regret. “I didn’t look. I didn’t want anything to do with her.”

 

I formally arrest Jimmy for desecration and ask Collins to search through Missy’s paperwork to find out who inherited her property. I also dutifully release the jeweller after he spent three hours kicking his heels in isolation.

Night falls and I remain enclosed in my office. I can’t bear to leave and go home to my empty rooms and barren life. She will doubtless be out making merriment and celebrating with friends. 

My head falls back against my chair and I sigh. Life was much more straightforward before the war. I had my wife, my career and my peace of mind. I thought when I returned that I had aged as much as I could, that I would nevermore grow old, but instead I stayed old only long enough to drive my wife away. Then Miss Fisher breathed her magic into me and I haven’t found stability since.

My eyes close and I remember times we have spent, just the two of us. Singing, playing draughts, dancing. Simple pleasures, that I had thought myself too old for. She hasn’t told me about her time in the war yet, but I hope she will one day. Whatever happened, she felt it keenly and I see the impact it had on her daily.

“Miss Fisher.” I murmur out loud. “Phryne. What have you done to me?”

The question is answered by the crashing sound of the door flying open at speed.

“Inspector! Inspector Robinson!” It’s Ces. Something is wrong. I hurry to the office door and wrench it open.

He’s panting heavily.

“It’s Miss Fisher!” I know she can look after herself in most scenarios, so I don’t feel a frantic urge to leap to her rescue.

“She had us find out who’s the captain of the Harper lad’s pirate crew and she’s gone to the docks to hunt him down!”

She cannot possibly manage this alone. I leap to her rescue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter :)

Ces and I rush outside - he is on foot so we depart in a police car. As I drive - going significantly faster than is safe - he fills me in on what’s happened.

“Miss Fisher told us, couple of days ago, that this Tom Harper guy was involved in piracy and she thought me and Bert stood a better chance of tracking him down than the police.”

He glances over at me and I can only grin in rueful acknowledgement. He relaxes a little, and keeps on:

“So we makes our way down to the docks and frequent a few establishments, looking for signs of the old trade.” I fix my eyes firmly on the road as he reveals a little more familiarity with criminal activities than I think I should admit hearing. “I picked up a tip from a guy about a crew that had made a big haul, and were looking to take on new hands. I tried to follow up today and the connection gave me a warning - said one of the old lot had siphoned off a choice piece and was made an example of.”

“Tom?”

“Took some work, but me and Bert are pretty sure it was him. The gossip finally gave up the name of the ship and we tracked down its berth - it’s not sailing until tomorrow.”

“And you told Miss Fisher what you’d found.”

“Course, if we’d known what she was going to do…”

“I know, Ces. I know.”

We sit silently for a moment, before my need to know gets the better of me. “What time did she go to the docks?”

“We’re not sure. She took the car and drove herself. Dotty came down to the kitchen where we were having a bite with Mr Butler, and said she hadn’t realised Miss Fisher had planned a night out. Well, she always tells one of us something - we pretty quick realised she’d kept it mum for a reason. Bert got in the cab and drove to the docks, I went to your digs, and Dotty called Collins.”

“You went to my home first? What time did you realise she was gone?”

“More’n half an hour ago.” Ces’ voice is grim. In response, my foot hits the floor of the car as though a lead weight has landed on it and the rest of the journey is accomplished more speedily than even Miss Fisher could manage.

 

We find Miss Fisher’s car, and the cab which Bert has obviously abandoned in haste right beside it. With less time to spare, I turn the lights off and drive further into the docks. We leave the car once we’re close enough to the boat that we run the risk of being heard. It’s an old ship, with signs of being severely run down, but as we draw nearer I realise they’re superficial and disguise some modern improvements. Any vessel accosted by this would not feel threatened until far too late; I’m not surprised they are able to board passenger ships.

We creep along the docks, listening for signs of commotion, and I see Ces’ head constantly flicking around. Even driving the car so close would not have bought us more than ten minutes. We’re a long way behind everyone else and the absence of commotion only serves to convince me that Miss Fisher hasn’t yet won the day.

Ces’ hand seizes my elbow and he gestures with his chin. I can’t see what has caught his eye for a few seconds but then I make out in the gloom a moving shadow. A man, judging by the walk, strolling along quite casually. As he nears us, I can see a dull speck of light in the cigarette hanging from his lips. He’s walking aimlessly, ambling back and forth and staying in a fairly confined area.

“Guard.”

I had not thought it possible for a whisper to be so quiet, and I nod in response to Ces’ warning. If everyone else is on board, then either he knows and is extra alert, or he hasn’t seen them and there is an alternative way to board.

A sharp whistle sounds from the ship and the guard steps towards it and hollers something indistinct. A “Yep!” comes from the ship in response and he resumes his stroll.

I can’t imagine getting past that guard. Tugging on Ces’ sleeve I pull him round behind some crates and we hastily confer. Knowing the docks better than I do he suggests we might have better luck elsewhere, although it was likely to require some acrobatics.

“Lead on.” I tell him. Miss Fisher would definitely approve of acrobatics.

 

As we creep along the front, I feel certain there is another presence here - a familiar one. I can feel Ces has also increased in alertness. I spot him, lurking clumsily behind a crate, peeking around it occasionally and as soon as I do I relax. It’s Collins.

I don’t want to alarm him so I pass him and, once I’m far enough from the ship that I doubt the guard will hear, whisper his name. He flinches and whirls - thankfully silently - and recognises me quickly. 

He and Ces both creep over to join me and Collins whispers: “I’m glad you’re here, sir. Dotty told me about Miss Fisher, but I haven’t been able to get on board.”

“Have you seen Bert?” Ces’ whisper is sharp.

“No, I haven’t seen anyone except the guard and two other men who come and talk to him every five minutes or so. One comes from the offices, and the other calls from the boat.”

“How long have you been here, Collins?”

“About 30 minutes, sir.”

“Bert wouldn’t have got here that quick, even at his fastest. He must have got on board round the back.”

“Come on.” I lead the way round and we soon see a means of boarding the vessel. There are a series of old iron brackets attached to the hull of the ship that can be used as a makeshift ladder. Ces and I approach it confidently, but Collins is a little more hesitant. 

“Sir, are you sure?”

“Feel free to suggest any alternative, Constable.”

“Ready when you are, sir.” Ces clearly means what he says - he’s already hunched at the edge of the dock, ready to launch himself over the ten foot gap between the dock and hull, intending to land on the rungs of the ladder. They look rusty and broken, but I’m convinced that is as much of an illusion as the rest of the ship’s damage. Pirates would need a way to climb aboard their vessel out at sea without much aid, and what better way than this.

I lead the way and as soon as I catch the cold iron I can tell I’m not the first here tonight. There’s a tuft of fabric caught on one of the rough rungs that is made of too fine a wool to belong to anyone who works at sea.

I hurry upwards. Near the top I pause, look down and signal to the two men following me to be still. Collins is immediately below with Ces bringing up the rear and I’m deeply grateful to have men I can trust by my side. They fall silent and we hang on the side of the ship, listening out for signs of life. There are none.

I can’t imagine they would leave this entry way unguarded - it’s impossible to make the jump onto the ladder silently, and I anticipate a trap. I creep up as slowly and quietly as I dare, while my worry for Miss Fisher’s safety urges me to rush forward screaming her name.

I reach the top and listen closely. The sound of slow deep breaths cut through the night. I gesture to Collins to hold and unclip my pistol.

 

Hoping, but not expecting, for the element of surprise, I lean off to the left of the ladder and raise my head above the edge.

There is a guard, but he’s already incapacitated. Someone has been here and gagged and bound him. He’s conscious, and struggling against his bonds. I spring aboard and double check that he can’t escape his restraints. They’re made from a thin rope, and I improve on them by handcuffing him to the rail, while calling to Collins and Ces to join me.

While they clamber aboard, I notice that the gag is a fine scarf, and that he is glaring at me from a black eye, with severe bruising on the opposite temple. Both Miss Fisher and Bert appear to have assaulted him. I feel compelled to murmur an apology for the bad night he’s having before abandoning him for the time being.

It’s the work of moments for the three of us to explore the deck and confirm that there is no-one in the immediate vicinity. Not wanting to raise any alarm we head below decks, as I struggle to establish Miss Fisher’s most likely route.

Thankfully, Ces spots a sign. He grabs me, and points at a fleck on the wall. “There!” his whisper is joyful. “Bert went that way.”

As we pass the fleck, he erases it, and we move more quickly now. There are flecks at every doorway. Sometimes he erases them without comment and keeps straight on, sometimes he takes a turn. Finally we reach a doorway with nothing beside it and Ces flags us into silence.

He leans slowly against the door frame and listens through a cupped ear. I strain as much as I am able but the metal of the ship is too thick for me to make out a sound. Ces, however, nods sharply and points at the doorway.

Bert? I mouth the question silently.

He nods.

Miss Fisher?

He gestures uncertainty. 

Danger?

His nod is emphatic and he holds up two fingers.

I’m not sure if he means two men, two minutes, or something else altogether, but there isn’t much I can do about that at this point. I unclip my pistol, as does Collins, and Ces counts down with his fingers:

3

2

1

He pushes the door open swiftly and I launch through into a scene that begins as a tableau of three men facing off and rapidly becomes one of chaos.

Bert took advantage of the distraction I caused and is now struggling with both men and yelling “Knife!” I dive into the fray, using the butt of my pistol as a club.

Collins launches in after me and dispatches of one of the two men with ease. The other is a much tougher cookie and it takes the concerted efforts of the four of us to bring him down. I focus on disarming him, while Bert and Ces wrestle, and Collins applies his pugilistic expertise.

Once he is down we cuff the two men together and Bert urges us on. “They caught Miss Fisher, the captain’s got her in his rooms. Hurry!”

I only need to know one thing: “Which way?”

 

We arrive at the corridor Bert believes the Captain to have his quarters on and look around quietly. There are no signs of guards or lookouts here, but we’re so deep within the body of the ship it’s not surprising. Bert and Ces have a private sign language which gets us to the door of one particular cabin silently. These rooms have wooden doors and I’m able to listen in. 

Relief like nothing I’ve ever felt washes over me as I hear her voice, clear and untainted by pain, although she sounds worried enough.

“So you killed him for stealing the ring?”

“I made an example of him, Miss Fisher. No member of my crew may think there is any benefit to stealing from me.”

“Why kill Missy, though? She was no danger.”

“She was part of the example, Miss Fisher. Timbo was always clear he was in it for the cash - he was making as much as he needed for him and her to live in luxury. She had a plan of her own, but he’d convinced her it was too risky and he’d get the money together for her instead. Like a gentleman.”

The pirate’s sneer is audible, and I hear movement. I imagine she is trying to avoid him.

“So you killed her to send a message - anyone who steals from you risks not only their own lives, but the lives of those they love.”

“You, Miss Fisher, are very quick on the uptake. It’s a pleasure to discuss business with you.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“And there are other pleasures a woman as attractive as yourself can offer.”

“I’m flattered, but must decline your offer.”

Bless her courage. I have heard enough and signal to Collins to break down the door.

He launches his shoulder against it and it doesn’t budge. He falls back gasping and grabbing his shoulder as Miss Fisher’s voice bursts from inside

“Jack! Jack, be careful!”

There are the sounds of a struggle, and a stifled cry. All of us together wrestle with the door. There is the sound of a single gunshot from a small weapon and my fear rips through me, tearing a cry from my throat:  “Phryne!”

Our assault on the door intensifies and an alarm starts blaring through the ship. After what feels like aeons the door gives way and I charge through. I don’t even look for the pirate because she is lying on the floor, bleeding profusely.

There are sounds of a struggle, but they sound far, far away as I kneel beside her and hold her close.

“Jack.” Her whispered breath is warm against my cheek and I pull back to look into her eyes. “I’m glad you came for me, Jack.” Her words are a clear effort, but she tries to inject them with levity. “Although I rather think,” she pants, “That Mac would be more useful, under the circumstances.”

I can’t argue.

“Sir!” It’s Collins. “Sir, we have him.”

“Good. Secure the ship, arrest everyone and call out whatever support you need. I’m taking Miss Fisher for medical help.”

Her eyes close and she rests in my arms. I gather her weight into my arms and push myself upright. “Let me help, sir.”

Collins is stronger than I am but I will not relinquish her now.

“Get us safely to my car.”

“I remember where it’s parked.” Ces interjects. “You just follow us, sir. We’ll get you there.”

“Hang on, Miss Fisher.” Bert speaks to her, but I fear she can’t hear.

I don’t have to tell them to move, they are already heading forwards. They’ve taken the opportunity to arm themselves, but there are only four men who have responded to the alarm and they are easily dispatched. As soon as I emerge into the night I fix my eyes on the car and head there. 

There is a member of the dock security running towards the ship who hails me.

“Deal with it, Collins.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

I sit her in the car, and take up the driver seat. I want to drive at the absolute limit of what the car can do, but her blood is still flowing and I darent risk flinging her around and possibly dislodging the bullet. As I drive, she slumps in her seat and I try to tell myself it’s good for her to have the additional pressure on the wound.

 

We arrive at my home. It’s the closest building with a phone I can think of and I carry her over the threshold in a grim parody of a newlywed.

Doubting that she would concern herself with the loss of dignity in the face of such urgency, I perch her on the hall table and clasp her closely to me as I urgently call her home number. It’s picked up before the first ring is completed and I answer Dot’s frantic “Hello?” with the bare minimum.

“Inspector Robinson here. Miss Fisher is injured. Please ask Dr Macmillan to come to my home.”

“At once, sir. Thank you.”

I drop the phone and carry her to my bed. There is no time to be self conscious and I slide her shirt and camisole up to expose the bullet hole - a dark stain within an expansive blood pool, shining a bright red under the electric lighting.

I seize towels and handkerchiefs from a cupboard and do my best to staunch the flow of blood while waiting for the knock on the door.

My jacket is restricting my movement and I fancy she would prefer a warmer pillow, so I strip it off, bundle it up and lay it beneath her head.

Time passes, I don’t know how much. For me it is measured by the feeble beating of her pulse under my fingertips. Finally the knocker sounds and I apologise for leaving her, drop a kiss on her forehead and tell her I’ll be right back.

Dr Macmillan enters as soon as the door is open.

“Which way?”

“Upstairs, second door on the right.”

“Is all that blood hers?”

“Yes.” She glances at me, clearly worried.

“She was shot in the ribs at close range, by her own pistol.”

There are no more words. I help as best I can while she moves quickly and efficiently through the stages of her procedures. The bullet is removed and the wound is stitched. 

“Thank God she didn’t regain consciousness.” The Dr's muttered words match my thoughts. I saw enough field surgery during the war to know how she would have suffered throughout the process.

There is another knock on the door and the doctor glances at my bedside clock.

“You’d better answer that. I can manage here. It’s probably Miss Williams. I asked her to give me half an hour exactly thirty one minutes ago. I’d wager she’s been stood outside counting down the seconds.”

She’s right. I open the door and Miss Williams gazes up at me, eyes wide in her pale face.

“I couldn’t stay away.” she tells me, “I’m sorry to disturb you.”

I invite her into the hall and she sees me more clearly. 

“Is all that blood… hers?” Unlike the doctor, her enquiry is hesitant and she seems to fear the answer. I nod.

“Regretfully so, Miss Williams.”

“Is she… Is she alright?”

“She should be.”

The doctor’s voice carries clearly down the stairs. I am both startled and relieved, following Miss William’s gaze up the stairwell and fixing on the Dr who is wiping her hands professionally. She smiles and informs us: “Strong as an ox, that one.” There is loving admiration in her voice.

I realise I am still holding the door and move to close it when a polite cough arrests my motion. “Excuse me, sir. I thought you might not be equipped to host a large number of guests and felt you might benefit from my services.”

Mr butler is standing in my doorway. I am not deceived, he needed to be close to her like the rest of us, but I am sincerely grateful for his offer.

“Thank you, Mr Butler.” I wave him in. “I suspect we have a long night ahead of us.”


	6. Chapter 6

Miss Williams runs up the stairs and follows the doctor back into my bedroom. Mr Butler takes the opportunity to gently suggest I might benefit from removing my blood stained clothing while he makes tea. He’s quite right, but my clothing is in my bedroom and it’s becoming a little crowded up there.

He follows my involuntary glance upstairs and immediately understands.

“If you will permit me, sir, I shall retrieve your belongings and explain to the ladies you will be freshening up in the kitchen.”

“Thank you, Mr Butler.”

I’m still wearing my waistcoat and shirt, although both are now wholly ruined. I close the kitchen door firmly behind me, strip off to my waist and turn on the tap. The sound of running water is loud and oddly hypnotic in the still, cold room. The water falling from the tap triggers a memory of the sight of blood flowing from her, and I can’t let it go. I grip the sink for support and tell myself firmly that it’s over. She’s alive. 

I can’t say she is out of danger. Not until she laughs at me again. 

Reminding myself that this too will pass, I hold my hands under the water. The cold is a vicious shock, but I’m too tired to flinch. I hadn’t realised until this moment how exhausted I am. The petty pains that kept me awake the previous night have paled into insignificance in my awareness of what truly losing her would be like. I am willing to barter anything she wants - anything - for a promise she will live through this and come out whole on the other side.

Her blood is disappearing from my hands and I begin to scrub myself with a rough cloth. Her blood seeped through my clothing as I carried her, the towels stained my arms far beyond the elbow and I dread to look in the mirror, for fear of seeing marks on my face. I scrub my face with my eyes closed and hold the cloth under the running water for a long time before I open them again.

I’ve completed the full act of ablution three times before Mr Butler returns. I’m grateful for the interruption. His presence means I have a reason to stop, a reason to think of something new.

“How is she?”

“She’s not yet conscious, sir, but Dr Macmillan has expressed every confidence that she will recover well. No vital organs were harmed - by some miracle the bone entered between the ribs and caught the side of her breastbone which, according to Dr Macmillan, absorbed most of the power of the projectile. A few splinters of the bone separated out, and she will be in great discomfort while she heals, but there should be no lasting damage.” He smiles slightly at me. “Now, if you will permit me sir, I shall make the tea while you dress.”

“Thank you, Mr Butler.”

“I believe,” he continued, while I struggle with my buttons “that Miss Williams will be coming to the parlour within a few minutes. She might like to have company there.”

He is very good at disguising commands as requests. I repeat my thanks, this time with an edge of amusement that he acknowledges with a fatherly glance.

I sink into my favorite chair before the fire which Mr Butler obviously took the time to light before joining me in the kitchen.

Grateful beyond words to have been accepted as an extension of the Fisher household, I close my eyes and wait. Seconds later, Mr Butler’s voice, politely excusing himself wakes me. The room is a lot warmer, and lighter.

“I’m terribly sorry for disturbing you sir, but Miss Fisher is awake.”

I’m upright instantly and see Miss Williams, smiling broadly, standing in the doorway. The Dr is next to her. She also smiles and nods at me. I race upstairs.

She’s propped up against my pillows, covered by a clean sheet and blanket and wearing one of my shirts. She smiles and reaches out to me. “Jack. My hero.”

Her voice is weaker than usual, but as full of her liveliness as I could hope. I perch on the bed beside her and clasp the hand she holds out to me.

“Miss Fisher.”

There is nothing else I can say confronted with the miracle of her presence.

“Are you very cross at me Jack?”

The direct attack. That’s my girl. I can’t repress a smile, but tell her as reprovingly as possible:

“I told you when we first met that I planned to make this town less dangerous.”

“I remember. You were very resistant to my involvement.”

“How can I make this town safer for you when you throw yourself into every available fray?”

“It was foolish of me to go alone.” She’s never lacked common sense and I’m not surprised by her honesty.

“Why did you, Miss Fisher?”

She looks defensive and I believe that for the first time she might actually lie to me. I place my finger over her lips and abjure her not to.

“Not between us.” I beg. “If there can’t be honesty, let there be silence.”

She kisses my finger and remains silent.

I move my hand, but can’t bear to stop touching her, so pretend her hair needs to be brushed back. Her perfume fills the air - her natural scent, not the usual French fragrance she clouds herself in - and I feel as though I am becoming drunk on the heady odour. We are so close, so still and quiet, all alone in my bedroom and I can no longer resist.

I lean forward to kiss her. Our eyes lock together moments before we kiss and we both know this is it. This is the point of no return.

The doorbell rings.

Her eyes close in a frustrated grimace and I cannot repress a smile.

Mr Butler opens the door and I hear Collins enquiring after me. There are footsteps on the stairs and then the sounds of a scuffle. Miss Williams’ tones are heard - although the words aren’t clear I can tell she is scolding him.

Miss Fisher and I exchange a glance of rueful amusement. Despite Miss Williams’ best efforts to give us time alone, the intimate moment is lost and we both know it cannot be recovered. She caresses my cheek and tells me teasingly: “Think of the gossip if it became known you were here with me alone, Detective Inspector.”

I turn my face into her hand and hold it against my lips for a moment. Then I stand and leave her behind to resume my customary mantle. She calls to me before I leave the room: “Would a martini be out of the question?”

Her humour relieves me of the guilt I feel for running away again and gives me the energy I need to run down the stairs. The ladies are disappointed to see me return to the parlour. The men are a combination of concerned and apologetic.

“Miss Fisher,” I inform the room at large, “has expressed a wish for a martini.”

“That woman. She was always a dreadful patient.” The doctor storms upstairs calling Phryne’s name. 

“I’ll… take her some tea and toast.”

“Thank you, Miss Williams.”

“I’m sorry to intrude, sir, but we thought you might want to be updated on the case.”

“Blow the case!” Bert’s tones are more than slightly snappy. “How’s Miss Fisher? The sawbones hadn’t got to say what happened before you came down.”

“She’s back on form.” I tell him and Ces with a smile. “The bullet missed everything important and it’s been removed now. She’s lost a lot of blood, so she’ll be quite weak for a while, but she’s already determined to indulge herself.”

“That’s our Miss Fisher.” Ces nods approvingly.

“Now, Collins. The case?”

“Yes, sir. We arrested all of the crew, and set a few men on the ship. The new crew who were reporting today before they were due to set sail have also been taken in - we rounded up a few known petty criminals there.”

“Good work, Collins.”

“The captain has been arrested for the murders - confessed he used Tom Harper’s own knife to kill Missy as part of the example he wanted to set. The cells were a little crowded, so I released Jimmy Harper after confiscating his £300. I checked through Missy’s papers and she did have a will. It left her business property to her partner Pete, and her personal property to Tom Harper, or, if he predeceased her, his brother Jimmy.”

“He stole the ring from himself?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All we have on him then is obstruction and desecration of the corpse, but I think I’m in the mood to let that slide. Return the boy his money and caution him.”

“Yes, sir.”

There is a disturbance from upstairs. Miss Fisher is now descending, clad in an ornate dressing gown which Miss Williams must have brought with her. Her feet are clad somewhat incongruously in my slippers, a fact she draws our attention to by ensuring she has our attention and showing them off to us as if they were the highlight of her ensemble.

She’s ushered into a chair before the fire by her assorted loved ones and I linger in the background, watching with a smile.

In all the times I imagined her taking that seat before my fire it was never under these circumstances but then, I never have been able to predict her.

She reclines, smiles teasingly around the group and declares: “Dot tells me that most unfortunately I have missed my final shift as a wing walker and can never expect a reference from pilot Pete. I will be obliged to retire from the career forthwith.”

I can’t hold back my chuckle and she meets my eyes with a warm open look. We aren’t lovers, but we have something more than she has ever offered another man. That’s more than enough for me.


End file.
